Although it felt counterintuitive to head to Provincetown from DC/Philadelphia, I wanted to visit my friend Jenn. Jenn and I met last year in Italy and over the last few months, I've emailed her enough into making her think she actually likes me. It's a gift, really.

Other than Jenn's immense charm, I was especially excited to visit because of the way she responded to an email I elegantly titled, "hey! where do you live?" She said, "See that little tip of the boot that is Massachusetts? We live at the very tip. Like, walk far enough and you fall off the edge of the continent."

I loved that.

And I wanted to go. So I did. Provincetown is charming and alarming. Charming because of its tiny streets and picturesque views, alarming because I'm a prude. Honestly, who would have thought a chocolate penis would be so startling?

Outside of the overwhelming Memorial weekend visitors, I loved how quaint Provincetown was. It felt like every nook and cranny deserved a moment of appreciation. I liked the idea of being there as Jenn, her husband, and their four pets were-- in the off season, mostly isolated from everyone else, and at the edge of the world.